So, so he's for a wife, you see: has he ever talked to you in this strain? Gre. Now and then; but I always tell him 'tis time to think of marrying when the old badger is in the earth. Dib. Pooh! you're to blame: we'll make a man of him; we'll set him up with a wife. I have a girl in my eye! a friend of my own-provided you will bear a hand in the business. Gre. Bear a hand, master Dibble! You are a lawyer and can take care of yourself; I'm a poor servant, and have a character to lose. education; the other poor lad has been a bird of his own breeding. Gre. And a precious bird he is! such another lapwing! skitting here, and skitting there; sometimes above, sometimes below: no wonder he's so wild, when his schooling has been under the hedges; but, I hear my old master on the stairs. Good morning to your honour-I must budge onwards to Mr Stapleton's. [Exit GRE. Man. Gregory, good morning! Enter ANDREW NIGHTSHADE. Dib. Well, well; but if I pay you for your A. Night. [Speaks, as he enters.] I tell you, character, and your service into the bargain-fellow, there's your fare: I'll not give you a farevery thing has its price, you know. thing over. A hard shilling, indeed!—a hard Gre. To be sure, there's no denying that; but, coach, if you please!-Brother Manlove, your hark! here comes his honour Manlove. Dib. Enough-Where are you lodged? Gre. At Mr Stapleton's, in New Broad-Street: I'm going thither after I've seen the counsellor. Dib. Better and better still! I'm going thither, too, and will wait for you, below, in the square: we can discuss my scheme by the way. [Erit DIB. Gre. What a sharp bitten vermin it is! Ah! these lawyers have all their wits about them. Enter MANLOVE. Man. What, Gregory! and without thy master? Where's my brother Nightshade? Thou and he are seldom parted, I believe. Gre. Troth, sir, I hope Heaven will take some consideration of that, and set off the sins of my youth against the suffering of my old age. The squire is at hand. Man. Well, and what business calls him up to town? Gre. Please your honour, he is fallen out with our parson. Man. About tythes? Gre. Lack-a-day! he has been non-suited upon that score over and over-'Tis about game. Man. Game, quotha! if he comes to talk to me about hares and partridges, Gregory, I won't hear of it such laws and such law-suits are the disgrace of the country-I wont hear a word upon the subject. Gre. It's quite a breach; he has totally left off going to church himself, and forbade all his family; nay, what's more, he has broke his backgammon tables, only because the parson taught him the game. Mercy o' me, that ever your honour and my old master should be born of the same mother! servant! This town grows worse and worse; no conscience, no police-if I was not the most patient man alive, such things would turn my brain -Brother Manlove, I say your servant! Man. Brother Andrew, you are welcome. You seemed a little ruffled, so that I waited for its subsiding, and now, give me your hand: I am glad to see you in town, provided the occasion be agreeable. A. Night. I think the law has a proviso for every thing your compliment sets off, like the preamble of a statute, and your conclusion limps after, like the clause at the tail of it. So you keep your old apartments, and as slovenly as ever-Lincoln's-Inn and the law-so runs your life. A turn upon the terrace after breakfast, a mutton chop for dinner at the Rolls, and the evening paper at the Mount, wind up your day. Man. A narrow scale, I own; but whether it be, that I was made too small for happiness, I never could entertain both guests together; so I took the humblest of the two, and left the other for my betters. A. Night. Ay, 'tis too late to alter; 'twould be a vain endeavour to correct your temper at these years-By the way, brother, your stair-case is the dirtiest I ever set my foot upon. Man. So long as we have clean dealings, within, our clients will make no complaint. Your's, I warrant, was neater at Rotterdam? A. Night. Neater! 'tis a matter of astonishment to me, how you, that have a plentiful estate, can make yourself a slave to business, and drudge away your life in such a hole as this! Man. True, Andrew, 'twas unreasonable; but, as I have now made over the best part of my estate to your son, so I think I have answered the best part of your objection. A. Night. You shall excuse me-all the world Man. Of the same mother, but very different cries out upon your folly; you are apt to be a fathers, Gregory: doomed, from early youth, to a little hasty, else I should be free to tell you, you life merely mercantile, his days have been passed have made yourself ridiculous; and what is worse between a compting-house at Rotterdam, and the-brother Charles, I speak to you as a father, cabin of a Dutch dogger; precious universities! you have undone my son. One son, indeed, he allowed me to rescue from his hands, and to him I have given a public Man. How so? have I confined him in his education? in his hand, or a grey-hound at his horse's heels, and all to disturb and destroy my property. A. Night. No, faith; the scale on which you have finished him is wide enough to take in vice and folly at full size: his principles won't cramp Man. I say property! let your game look after their growth. At school he was grounded in im- themselves. Do you call a creature property, pudence, the university confirmed him in igno- that lights upon my lands to-day, upon your's torance, and the grand tour stocked him with infi-morrow, and the next, perhaps, in Norway? I delity and bad pictures---such has been his edu cation. Man. But you, in your wisdom, pursued a different course with your younger son. A. Night. I bred him as a rational creature should be bred, under the rod of discipline, under the lash of my own arm; I gave him a sober, frugal, godly training; and mark the difference between them--Your fellow lives here in this great city, in a round of pleasures, in the front of the fashion, squandering and revelling :---Mine abides patiently in the country, toiling and travailling; early at his duty, sparing at his meals, patient of fatigue; he hears no music as Charles does, purchases no fine pictures, lolls in no fine chariot, befools himself with no fine women: no, thank my stars, I've rescued one of my boys; Jack, at least, walks in the steps of his father. Man. I hope he will; better principles I cannot wish him: but, methinks, Andrew, a little more knowledge of the world A. Night. Knowledge of the world, brother Charles! who knows so much? Belike you never heard, then, I had made three trips to Shetland, in a herring-buss, before you was born! have been three time chartered to Statia for muscovadoes; twice to Zante for currants; and made one voyage to Bencoolen for pepper? Man. Yes; and that pepper-voyage runs in your blood still. A. Night. So much the better; it will preserve my wits; it will season my understanding from such fly-blown folly as your's. Zooks! you to talk of knowledge of the world! where should you come by it? upon Clapham-Common! upon Bansted-Downs? Did you ever see the Pike of Teneriffe, the rock of Gibraltar, or even the bishop and his clerks? I know them all, your charts, and your coasting-pilots; I have been two nights and a day upon a sandbank in the Grecian Islands; and do you talk to me of knowledge of the world? Man. Let us change the subject, then--you have not told me what brings you out of the country? A. Night. Because there's no abiding in it; what with refractory tenants, poaching parsons, enclosing 'squires, navigation schemes, and turnpike meetings, there's no keeping peace about me: no, though I've commenced fourteen suits at law, besides bye-battles at quarter-sessions, courts leet, and courts baron, innumerable. Man. Indeed! A. Night. No sooner do I put my head out of doors, but instantly some fellow meets me with a fowling-piece on his shoulder, or a fishing-rod VOL. II. reprobate all quarrels about guns, and dogs, and game; for my part, I am pleased to see an Englishman with arms, whether he bears them for his own amusement, or for my defence. A. Night. Tis mighty well! I am a fool to waste my time with you; I shall look after my own game, in my own way; you may watch your's, the sparrows, here, in the garden, or the old duck in the fountain in the square; your science goes no farther, so your servant. If you want me, I shall be found at Mr Stapleton's in New Broad SCENE IL-An apartment in CHARLES MANLOVE'S house. Enter CHARLES MANLOVE, and FREDERICK. Cha. Man. Mr Manlove dines with me to-day; lay two covers in the little parlour, and bid the cook be punctual to his hour. Fre. To a minute, sir. If Mr Manlove dines here, dinner will be served precisely as the clock is striking. Cha. Man. Set out the dumb waiter, and tell the men they need not attend. Fre. [Goes to the door and speaks.] Sir, you cannot come in; my master is not to be spoken with: where are you pushing? Cha. Man. What's the matter, Frederick? Fre. A country-like fellow says he must be admitted to speak with you in private; he will not be kept out [Pulls the door to, and enters. Cha. Man. And why should he? Fre. I don't know; I cannot say I like his looks; I never saw a more suspicious person. Cha. Man. Well, let him in, however. [FRED. opens the door. Fre. Gad so, I'm wrong! I'll e'en make off. [Exit FRE. J. Night. Hush, hush! don't blow me! snug's the word; close, close, and under the wind. Cha. Man. I protest I scarce knew you, Jack; what brings you to town? J. Night. Six hours, and as bright a gelding as ever was lapt in leather. Cha. Man. But what's your business? did your father send you up? J. Night. He send me up! where have you lived to ask the question? No; he has brought himself hither, and I stole a march after him: a freak; a frolick, that's all. Didlikins! what a flaming house you live in! Oh, I give you joy, brother! Uncle Manlove has clapt a new name upon you. Old Surly knows nothing of this trip. I had much ado to get to the speech of you: you have a mortal parcel of fine fellows below in your hall. But you are not angry at my coming? you'll not peach, I hope? Cha. Man. Honour forbid! Thy lot, my dear boy, has been severe enough. could enjoy a brother's share in all my happiness. in all my fortune: submit, however, to the necessity of your affairs with a good grace; humour the peculiarities of your father, and command me upon all worthy occasions. J. Night. Why that's hearty, that's friendly now. Give me hold of your hand. Boddikins! I was afraid you would have turned your back on me, now you have jumped into such a fortune; but I see you are as honest a lad as ever: By the way, father was in a damned hue at your changing your name-fierce as a panther; no man dare enter his den. But you say you'll rig me out for a day; give me a good launch, Charles, and I warrant I'll find a harbour. Cha. Man. There's my purse, Jack; it contains enough to spend, and some to throw away: Frederick commands the wardrobe; if you find any thing to your mind, take it; if not, convene my tailor; he'll equip you in an instant. Follow your propensities, but take a little discretion to your aid; your nature has not had much pruning; and, till experience shall have cleared the path of life, pleasure may be apt to spread some snares in your way, that may cost you sorrow to escape from. J. Night. Severe! there's been no scarcity of that, I warrant you: there's not a'crab-stock in the neighbourhood, but what my shoulders have had a taste of its fruit. Oh, you've a rare lot, Charles! a happy rogue! Look at mo- -Who would think you and I were whelps of the same breed? You are as my lady's lap-dog; I am rough as a water-spaniel; be-daggled and be-mi- J. Night. I thank you; I have a pretty consired, as if I had come out of the fens with wild derable stock of that upon my hands already; fowl: why, I have brought off as much soil upon one good thing at a time. [Looking at the mo my boots only, as would set up a Norfolk far-ney.] How much of this money must you take back again? J. Night. Humph! in all twenty and five guineas! What was you saying last, brother? Cha. Man. Only throwing away a little good advice upon you, Jack; that's all. mer. Cha. Man. Well, well, Jack; we'll soon get thee into better trim. J. Night. Then you must thrust me into a case of your own, for I've no more coats than skins father, to be sure, keeps it well dusted; but, methinks, I should be strangely glad to see myself a gentleman for one hour or two. Cha. Man. What can I do for you? your father, you say, is in town; a discovery would be fatal: do you know where he is lodged? J. Night. Not I, truly; but my amusements lead to places, where I should be sure not to meet him only one night, dear Charles, and I'll be back again in the country; think what a life mine is; compare it with your own, and I am sure you won't grudge me one day's frolic and away! Cha. Man, I grudge you! no-I wish you Cha. Man. 'Tis all at your service, and more, if your occasions require it. J. Night. Are you serious! Is it possible!— 'Sbud, I don't know, I can't tell what I should do in your case, but I am afraid I could never have the heart to give you as much. Drown it! what pity 'tis that old Crusty had not some of your spirit! May I spend it all, and won't you require an account of it? me. Cha. Man. Not unless you choose to give it J. Night. Give me a kiss, give me a kiss, my dear, dear brother! enjoy your good fortune and welcome; I perceive a man has not half so much envy in his heart, when his pocket's full of money, Come, I'll go change my dress. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I-STAPLETON's house. MRS STAPLETON and LETITIA at breakfast. Enter MR STAPLETON. Mr Stap. A MERCHANT'S wife, and not breakfasted before this! fye upon you, Dolly! these are new fashions, these are courtly customs; let us stick to the city, and the old city hours. And this idle jade, Letitia, loves her pillow better than she does her prayers. Come, come, away with your crockery. Old Andrew Nightshade will be with you before you are aware. Mrs Stap. There is another room ready for his reception. I am afraid my dear husband will find this old man's peevishness more than even his good nature can put up with. Mr Stap. Why have not you kept my patience then in better exercise? but never fear. Letitia, you are to have a visit from Counsellor Manlove Let. Mr Manlove's business with me is of a very different sort. Mr Stap. Perhaps not; therefore remember what I say. Let. I never can forget the respect that is due to your opinion. [Exit. Mrs Stap. Have you any reason to think Mr Manlove means to propose for his nephew? Mr Stap. I'll tell you more of that hereafter; we must now welcome old Nightshade with as good a grace as we can. He is an honest man, though a humourous one, and was, for many years, a very steady correspondent of mine at Rotterdam. We merchants must not overlook our friends, whatever our betters may think fit to do. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-CHARLES MANLOVE's house. this morning: Have you perused the papers he Enter JACK NIGHTSHADE, finely apparelled, fol sent you? Let. I have. Mr Stap. And what do they tell you? Let. What I can truly testify, that Mr Stapleton has been the best of guardians. Mr Stap. I say the best! half the trading world would call me a very bad one; when you come to sum up the accounts of your education, hussy, I expect you will file a bill against me for waste and embezzlement. Let. For misapplication, perhaps; the only objectionable part of your accounts will be the subject of them. Mr Stap. For shame, Letitia Fairfax! you well know you have been the pride and pleasure of our lives. Mrs Stap. When she was my ward, she dared not make so free with herself; now she is her own mistress, she must do as she will: My authority is expired. Let. Rather revived in so much fuller force, by how much more I'm bound to you by love than law. Enter a Servant. Ser. Mr Nightshade is below, sir: Counsellor Manlove to wait upon Miss Fairfax. Let. Where have you shown him? [Exit Servant. Mr Stap. A word before we part. Mr Manlove will inform you of certain restrictions you are under, by your good father's will, in the article of marriage: If the subject should lead him, as possibly it may, to name his nephew Charles to you, in truth, my dear Letitia, I do not know, in all this town, a young man of whom report speaks so advantageously. lowed by DIBBLE. J. Night. Come along, Dibble, come along.Dear, lovely, and delicious lady Fortune, who has put clothes upon my back, and cash into my pocket! thou knowest I never slandered thee, never called thee jilt or gipsey, when I've seen thee perched upon thy wheel, and feeding thy fools by handfuls; give me now the rest of thy blessing, love, pleasure, and good fellowship! May the lads I am to meet be frolicksome, and lasses free! and never let my poor little defenceless wherry come athwart that old Dutch dogger, my father, till 'tis safe in harbour, and all hands ashore. Dib. Well said, squire! where, in the name of wonder, did you find this rhapsody? J. Night. Why, did you never see the picture of Fortune, mounted on a wheel, with a bandage over her eyes, tossing money to the mob, like a parliament man? Gregory has the print in his pantry- -you may buy the whole moral for a penny. Dib. I protest, Jack, you are not only grown a bean in your brother's fine clothes, but a wit into the bargain. J. Night. Pshaw! I am merry enough when my belly's full, and father asleep; but what signifies a poor fellow's being witty, when there is nobody to laugh at his jokes? 'Tis the money in my pocket, Dibble, not the clothes on my back, that makes me a wit; and when the wine mounts into my noddle, I shall be wittier still. Dib. Time will shew. But, hark'e, 'squire Jack, before you pass yourself off for a man of fashion, should not you practise the carriage and conceits of one? J. Night. I shall be glad to learn. Dib. Be ruled by me; I will give you a few lessons shall set you up for a fine gentleman in a minute. Look at me-that's well: Stare me full in the face-ay, that will do-you have impudence enough for the character-that's a main point gained: Now walk across the room. J. Night. Walk! why that's easy enough, 1 hope. Dib. Hold-not so fast; there you are out: walk, trippingly, thus, d'ye see, with a lazy loitering air, not a league at a stride, with your head playing like the pole of a coach, so. [Mimicking.] When you enter a room, take no notice of any body in it; make your way strait to the chimney; turn your back to the fire; pull away the flaps of your clothes, and display your person to the ladies, who are sitting round. When their teeth begin to chatter with the cold, throw yourself carelessly into a chair, tuck your hands into your muff, and never open your lips for the rest of the afternoon; 'twill gain respect in every house you enter. J. Night. Well, well, Dibble; this is all easy enough: I shall be most at a loss for the lingowhat would your worship have me say when I'm amongst my betters? Dib. Nothing, I tell you. J. Night. Nothing! how the deuce, then, shall I shew my wit? Dib. By holding your tongue: never speak yourself, nor smile at any thing spoken by another; reserve your wit for your creditors, they'll keep it in exercise: not but what there are other occasions for a man of fashion to shew his parts; as, for instance, with a woman of modesty you may be witty at the expence of her blushes; or, with a parson at the expence of his profession: These are cheap methods--be at no pains in the account; decency and religion will pay all costs, and you'll be clear of the courts. J. Night. You need not tell me that; why, I played a thousand tricks upon our vicar, and, as for modest women, as you call them, I don't know much of them; but I know my tongue runs fast enough when I am amongst the maids; I can set the whole kitchen in a roar-But come, let us sally: Now do you mind. Dibble, don't you be calling squire, and squire Jack, and Jack Nightshade; but let it be sir, and your honour, and all that. Dib. Trust to me for setting you off in those fine clothes-let me see what shall we say you are? J. Night. Say I'm a young West Indian just come from my canes. Dib. Ay, or a young nobleman just succeeded to your honours; 'twill account for your want of education. J. Night. No, hang it, a better thought strikes me; call me Mr Manlove. Dib. Mr Manlove! Why do you take your brother's name? J. Night. For the same reason that I take his clothes because it fits me: If I leave him the estate that came with it, why mayn't I change names as well as he? Dib. Because he changed by act of parliament, and you by act of your own. J. Night. Act of parliament! Egad, they'll change people's sexes, by-and-by; why, they'll turn a wife into a maid by act of parliament, as readily as a common into an inclosure. Dib. Yes; but it generally remains common for the life of the proprietor. J. Night. Nan! How must I carry my hat, Dibble? Thus; under my arm? This damned barber has thrust his black skewers through my ears. Look out, and tell me if the man has called a coach. Dib. 'Tis waiting, sir. J. Night. A plague upon this spit! 'Tis as heavy as a fowling-pouch, and jingles like a pair of dog-couples; an oak-stick is worth two of it. Have you cautioned the servants about my name? Dib. 'Tis done, your honour. J. Night. "Tis done, your honour; your honour is obeyed: come along, Dibble; let your honour go before, and law follow after. Dib. Ay; but when law is at your heels, have a care it does not overtake you. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-An apartment. Enter MANLOVE and CHARLES. ! Man. Her mother was a Sedley, of a respectable family, and an accomplished lady; her father was a trader of fair character and principal, in the house now conducted with such credit by her guardian, Stapleton; her fortune is considerable. I mention that to you, as I think any great disproportion on either side, in that particular, is to be avoided. Cha. Man. Equal alliances, to be sure, are best. Man. And this would be of all most equal, for I verily think you have not a virtue, of which Miss Fairfax does not possess the counterpart: By the way, Charles, you will not like her the worse for being no inconsiderable proficient in your favourite art, painting. Cha. Man. I have heard her performance very highly commended: your report makes me ambitious of being known to her; and so, my dear sir, I promise you, in the words of your favourite poet, 'I'll look to like, if looking liking move. I'll take my heart to counsel, for I know you ask no sacrifice. Man. No, Charles; 'twas to make you free, not to rob you of your freedom, that I gave you a fortune. If I throw your inclination into fetters, 'twill be poor satisfaction that I gilt them over afterwards. Cha. Man. In that assurance, I will proceed |